Ring in the True
by ericajanebarry
Summary: "Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true." - Alfred, Lord Tennyson. A modern Richard and Isobel celebrate two consecutive New Year's Eves. Picks up after Chapter 4 of Rewrite This Tragedy; third in the retirement AU series. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This was going to be a summer fic, and that didn't happen. Then it was going to be a Christmas fic and that didn't happen either. I figure we're still close enough to New Year's that this'll be acceptable.**

 **Here we have Richobel set in the modern AU that starts with Rewrite This Tragedy and continues with Nocturne in Shadow and Light. If you've not read those, I would suggest you do so before embarking upon this one. Chronologically, this takes place after the fourth chapter of RTT. If it helps, I picture my modern Isobel as looking the way Penelope Wilton did in _Kavanagh QC: Time of Need_. My modern Richard resembles David Robb in the photos from the BAFTA Celebrates Downton event.**

 **I anticipate roughly half a dozen chapters for this fic, but that is subject to change. As is the rating.**

 **Reviews are a treasure!**

 **xx,**  
 **~ejb~**

* * *

 ** _Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,  
The flying cloud, the frosty light:  
The year is dying in the night;  
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die._**

 ** _Ring out the old, ring in the new,  
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:  
The year is going, let him go;  
Ring out the false, ring in the true_**

 ** _\- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam, [Ring out, wild bells]_**

 **oOo**

" _We'll go to dinner. Anywhere you like," he promised as he smoothed his hands over her shoulders, winding a strand of hair around his fingers._

" _Someplace quiet. I fancy not having to bother with cooking or washing up, but what I'd like best of all is solitude."_

" _Of course, darling. I know just the place." He pulled her in close. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, losing herself for a few glorious moments in the warmth of his embrace; the still, sure susurrations of their breathing._

" _Oh, Richard …" she sighed. He felt the weight that settled upon her, hearing her unspoken thoughts. Would there ever come a day when she emerged from the spectre of her son's death? In her grief, had she lost the objectivity needed to fulfill her oath?_

" _Isobel," he said, gently but firmly breaking through her thoughts. "Today is today. You'll get by one hour at a time. One minute at a time if that's what it comes to. And then you'll be through it and we'll sort all the rest. I shouldn't try to carry that mantle, alright? Not today, and not alone."_

 **oOo**

It is half six when she calls him with the news. It's the first break she's had since her arrival on the ward shortly before noon, this after having spent the morning seeing patients in her office across town. She takes the lift up to the rooftop to make the call, as cellular reception inside the building is abysmal. From the helipad, she watches as night falls on Notting Hill. Buses and taxis crowd the streets in numbers even greater than usual. Christmas lights burn cheerily in the windows of the shopping precincts. Queues are forming outside the doors of restaurants and nightclubs. The city teems with life; noise; energy.

Up here, Isobel hears none of it. The wind whips her hair and steals her breath. It is cold and turning colder, and she has forgone her coat. The frigid air stings her cheeks and she lifts her chin, turning her eyes skyward. It feels like snow is coming, but in the darkness, she can't tell. She isn't often one for the cold, but for the moment she embraces it. It reminds her that she _can_ feel.

She dials his number, closing her eyes as she listens to the line ringing.

"Richard," she manages when he answers, "I can't meet you, love. I can't leave here until I can get someone to relieve me." She pauses, swiping angrily at the tears that sting the corners of her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

" _Isobel."_ By the tone of his voice, she knows he is wise to her emotional state. She never could put anything over on him. " _It's alright, love. This flu mess …"_ He sighs. " _Hazards of the job and all, but I've not left the office yet either, and I couldn't break away to let you know."_

"Yeah," she snorts, "hazards of the job. I don't know anymore, Richard …" She pauses, shaking her head. "... But we'll sort that later. How hard were you hit?" Opposite to her, he had begun his day at the hospital, proceeding to his office across town in the afternoon.

" _We lost two junior docs and an attending before I got in. Three nurses were sent home at lunch, and my replacement failed the RapidFlu. I didn't make it over here until just after three. How's it on your end?"_

"More or less the same," she sighs. "Thank heaven for midwives. I've called in every one of them who've got privileges here. I've just sent a junior and a nurse home. All told, we've lost seven staff since I got in. Three docs phoned in sick for the overnight shift. I hear A&E's had an even harder go than we've done."

" _Cor," he exhales. "Have you found someone to relieve you?"_

"I called in a favour from an old friend of Reg's," she tells him. "He practises at King's College but he's got privileges here as well. He's in surgery till late but he thinks he can be here by half nine. When do you expect you'll break away?"

" _We're shut now. I've got another hour's worth of charts and I'll call it a night. Look, love, seeing as I'll be done first what say I just come to you?"_

"You needn't put yourself out like that," she protests.

" _I want to see you,"_ he answers simply. His words make her heart begin to pound.

"Well," she demurs, "when you put it like that … But we were going to have dinner, darling—"

" _I've got it well in hand; no worries. I'll be waiting for you when you finish. Go take back your ward, eh? Kick it in the arse!*"_

Isobel's response is delayed as she collects herself following a fit of laughter. "Ohh! I needed that. Are you going home before you come over?"

" _You're going to want to change when you're through."_ He interprets her meaning.

"Yes; I'm afraid my 'regimental blues' don't exactly say, 'dinner date.' You know best what you'd like to see me in."

" _As well as what I'd like to see you out of,"_ he quips. She shrieks; he chuckles. Their banter gives her _life._

"You'll forgive me the lack of snappy repartée," she tells him. "This head won't quit. I promise I'll be in top form later."

" _So I'll bring you suitable attire,"_ he says, " _and caffeine, yeah? And you'll take something in the meantime?"_

"I will. And yes; I know it's late but a coffee would be heaven, thanks." Her tone softens, roughens, and he pictures her in the firelight, her hair splayed across his pillow. "I'll see you later. I love you, Richard."

" _Go lead, fearless leader. It's almost over. I love you."_

She rings off and casts one final glance at the city below. If only it appeared so peaceful from every vantage point! Remembering Richard's directive _(Kick it in the arse!)_ she grins, squaring her shoulders, and heads back inside. For three more hours, she delivers babies (six) and juggles staff (sending three more home; calling in two from other hospitals) and reminds herself that having worked every holiday all year automatically earns her (and him!) a respite tomorrow, no matter how much chaos might try to intervene.

* * *

*"Let's kick it in the arse!" is the creation of Kim Manners, producer and director of The X-Files. It just ... fit here.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here be fluff. Thank you all for the lovely reviews!**

 **xx,**  
 **~ejb~**

* * *

Just after nine-thirty she hears the glass door of her office slide open. She looks up from the desk where she has been sat signing off on charts, a smile lighting up her face. "Richard!"

He isn't sure what endears her to him more: the relief he can hear in her voice or the look of her in the glow of the banker's lamp on her desk; the way she glances up at him over the top of her reading specs. She moves to stand, but he can tell from the fact she's forgone the overhead lights that her headache is still present. "Hello, beauty," he says. "No, no … don't get up." Setting a cup of coffee down on the desk, he kneels beside her. "Hi," he whispers, kissing her lightly.

"Mmm," she sighs against his lips, "hi." She holds him out away from her. "Let's have a look at you." He grins, lowering his eyes as she takes him in: the crisp white shirt and grey jumper, the aubergine tie and black velour dinner jacket. "Dashing," she proclaims, her hands smoothing over his lapels.

"I aim to please," he demurs. "Drink that." He indicates the coffee cup with his chin and moves to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. He waits while she takes several sips and then goes to work kneading her tired muscles. They are silent as he works, she content to rest in his presence; he enchanted by the silken softness of her skin where his fingertips meet the neckline of her scrub top. He can feel the way she relaxes under his touch and he is gratified by the intermittent soft sighs that issue from her lips.

She leans her head back against him, looking up through her lashes. _Don't you know what those eyes do to me?_ he muses.

"Thank you," she murmurs. He leans down to kiss her forehead.

"Nonsense. I'll have to leave it for home to do a proper job, but … any better?"

Turning her chair toward him, she nods. "Much. I felt better the minute I saw you." He's got enough good graces not to blush, but only just barely. He is still caught on the wrong foot by the fact that she loves him, that she returns the feelings he has had for her for so very many years, that he doesn't have to conceal his affection for her any longer. That she is his _wife_ ; she, who could take on the world single-handed.

She is no fool; she knows what's on his mind. "... And stop it, love. You're thinking too loudly again." At this she rises from her chair, stepping close to him. She smiles at him, that silly, besotted smile that is just for him and him alone, but her words are dead serious. "I'd be lost without you, Richard."

Unable to respond, he captures her face in his hands and brushes his lips against hers in a tender kiss.

She lays her head against his shoulder as they break apart. "I'm so glad you're here. I've been looking forward to this all day." This time it is she who looks shy as her eyes meet his.

 _Beautiful,_ he thinks with a grin, shaking his head. "As have I, darling." His hands are on her hips, and as his thumb caresses her the hem of her top rides up just enough that he makes contact with her skin.

Their eyes hold one another's as he touches her, the atmosphere alive with anticipation. "Ohh," she breathes, chuckling, "I am _so_ tempted to ask you to jack it in and take me home."

He smiles, kissing the tip of her nose. "All in good time, beauty." He rests his forehead against hers. "Are you ready to go?"

She nods, regretfully stepping out of his embrace, and moves round him to tidy the stack of charts on her desk. "I'll get dressed. Have you sorted what I ought to wear?"

"It's just there." He indicates the garment bag hanging from the coat tree by the door. "Shall I pack up while you change?"

"Please," she answers, nodding again. Catching his hand in hers, she pulls him in for another gentle kiss. "I won't be but a minute," she tells him softly. He watches her walk away, captivated by the sway of her hips.

She is gone just long enough that he begins to fret over his plans as he packs up her briefcase. Spontaneity has never been one of his strongest virtues, but he is learning. There is in Isobel the barest hint of a wild streak, tamed with maturity and the passage of time, but still present in great enough a measure as to intrigue and inspire him. There is much to be said for careful organization and forethought, but he has observed, in the course of his relationship with her, that there is also _life_ out there, and that it's meant to be _lived._

To that end, he has brought their evening to Isobel. It had taken some doing, but once he'd got the ball rolling one item after another began to line up seamlessly. He has only to hope now that it will all go off without a hitch. Mentally he runs through his checklist one last time. _Steady, old man,_ he tells himself. _Nothing's been overlooked_ _._

Just then she returns, and he rises from his seat with a smile, crossing to her. His concerns are forgotten the instant he lays eyes on her. _Soppy old git,_ he thinks.

"Well then … will I do?" she asks, her eyes sparkling. She is elegant in a black tunic and slim trousers, and the heels of her boots make her long, slender legs appear even longer.

"Stunning," he pronounces, drawing her to him. It would be so easy to get lost in the soft warmth of her body, the subtle fragrance of her perfume, the love and trust that shine in her dark eyes.

"Are you alright, love?" she asks.

"Oh yeah … yeah! Sorry, it's just … you're a bit of a … distraction."

"Oh, get away with you," she giggles.

"Well it's true, you know. D'ye know what I want to do right now?"

"Mmm. I've seen that look before. Come here, darling." Her arms go round his neck and his fall to her waist. She moves in close. "I love you," she breathes, letting her lips brush against his in a whisper of a kiss. He nips at them and she answers hungrily.

It is she who breaks away, reluctantly, after a moment. "I don't want to spoil your plans," she says softly, running her fingertips over the line of his jaw. "I'll just get my coat."

"Give it to me, aye? You'll not be needing it just yet."

She eyes him curiously. "No? How's that?"

"Just come along, lass. You'll see soon enough." He ushers her through the door and locks it behind them. With her briefcase in one hand and her coat draped over the same arm, he links the other one through hers.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: More fluff, banter, and big decisions. I think we'll see a rating jump next time. It's a long one, I know. I didn't set out for it to be so, honestly. I think this chapter's either absolute shite or one of my best, and I don't believe there's any in-between. But I'm interested to know what you think.**

 **Lyrics, unless otherwise noted, are from "Up on the Roof" by Gerry Goffin & Carole King. My particular favorite version of this song is sung by King herself along with James Taylor, and I've included his ad-libs because I think they add to the atmosphere I've endeavoured to create. The formatting is borrowed from writer friends who've interspersed song lyrics in a similar manner to the way I've done. I hope it makes sense.  
**

 **I'll can it now and, as my husband keeps encouraging me to do, let the writing speak for itself.**

 **xx,  
~ejb~**

* * *

 ** _Previously ..._**

 _"Well then … will I do?" she asks, her eyes sparkling. She is elegant in a black tunic and slim trousers, and the heels of her boots make her long, slender legs appear even longer._

 _"Stunning," he pronounces, drawing her to him. It would be so easy to get lost in the soft warmth of her body, the subtle fragrance of her perfume, the love and trust that shine in her dark eyes._

 _"Are you alright, love?" she asks._

 _"Oh yeah … yeah! Sorry, it's just … you're a bit of a … distraction."_

 _"Oh, get away with you," she giggles._

 _"Well it's true, you know. D'ye know what I want to do right now?"_

 _"Mmm. I've seen that look before. Come here, darling." Her arms go round his neck and his fall to her waist. She moves in close. "I love you," she breathes, letting her lips brush against his in a whisper of a kiss. He nips at them and she answers hungrily._

 _It is she who breaks away, reluctantly, after a moment. "I don't want to spoil your plans," she says softly, running her fingertips over the line of his jaw. "I'll just get my coat."_

 _"Give it to me, aye? You'll not be needing it just yet."_

 _She eyes him curiously. "No? How's that?"_

 _"Just come along, lass. You'll see soon enough." He ushers her through the door and locks it behind them. With her briefcase in one hand and her coat draped over the same arm, he links the other one through hers._

* * *

 _ **When this old world starts getting me down  
And people are just too much for me to face  
I climb way up to the top of the stairs  
And all my cares just drift right into space**_

 _ **On the roof it's peaceful as can be  
And there the world below can't bother me**_

* * *

She regards him as if he's sprouted a second head when, upon entering the lift, he indicates 'up.'

"Ehrm, love, aren't we meant to be going down?"

He chuckles at the way her brow furrows and kisses it smooth. "As I told you, you'll see soon enough."

His free arm comes round her waist and she leans against him, reveling in his warmth. She's so shattered that she's nearly asleep on her feet by the time the lift reaches its destination and he has to jostle her to get her attention. "Isobel. We're here, beauty."

"Hmm?" She blinks at him and his heart swells with love for her.

He extends his arm to her. "Can I take you to dinner, Captain?"

The door to the lift slides open and she regards their surroundings. "We're on the roof." She whirls round to face him. "We're on the _roof,_ Richard. Wh … Why are we on the roof?"

She links her arm through his and they exit the lift. As they walk along he watches her as she attempts to work out what he's up to. It is no small task to put one over on her; that he possesses the ability to do so pleases him mightily.

The corridor opens up into a small vestibule, enclosed in glass, which functions as a staging area for the A&E team to receive patients from the air ambulance. The far corner offers a near-panoramic view of the city down below, and this evening it boasts a small table and two chairs. The table is laid for dinner, adorned with a vase full of white roses. There is a bottle of Taittinger on ice and two glasses of Turkish Syrah on the table.

He watches her take it all in and laughs when she turns toward him and gestures, speechless, indicating the spread. "When we're settled I'll switch the lights off," he tells her. "The one thing I couldn't manage was candles. I didn't suppose you'd fancy the fire brigade joining us. But …" He produces his phone, taps the screen a few times, and suddenly it's illuminated by the flickering glow of candlelight. "Remember the last time George stayed the night? When we couldn't turn up a night light for his room?" She nods. "I turned this on for him and he thought it was grand."

"Richard," she interrupts. "How did you—? This is all your doing?"

Grinning, he wheels a small rolling cart over to the table. "When I read admin's memo regarding the flu, I had an inkling we'd be chucking our plans for the evening. Given that we missed out on Christmas altogether, I wasn't about to let that happen again. I'd got us a table at _Marianne*,_ so I simply rang them back and inquired about other arrangements."

"Something tells me that was anything but simple," she counters. "To have got us a table there at all, and on New Year's Eve, no less! Richard … it's not good graces but my God, you'll have spent half your pension!"

"That, my darling, is none of your concern," he says, coming nearer. He takes her hand, raising it to his lips, and kisses the back of it. "You've had a mad year, and you've been put through the wringer these past several months especially. Never once have you complained, but I know the toll it's taken. Your only request when I mentioned taking you out was that it be someplace quiet, and with apologies to Francis Bacon, I reckoned the mountain could come to Mohamed just this once."

"Oh, love, this is—" She can't begin to put words to all she feels. _How did he do this? How does he know? How did I get so lucky?_ She throws her arms round him, hugging him to her. Catching his chin in her hand, she kisses him with gentle insistence. One kiss becomes two, and two become several. When at last their lips part she whispers, "This is perfect."

"It's no less than you deserve," he says matter-of-factly. "And so long as nobody requires the helimed in the next couple of hours, we've the run of the place. Have a seat, beauty."

* * *

 _ **Let me tell you now  
When I come home feelin' tired and beat  
I go up where the air is fresh and sweet  
I get away from the hustling crowds  
And all that rat race noise down in the street**_

* * *

He pulls the chair out for her and begins lifting the lids from the serving dishes. "Now, this is a bit beyond a lad of my station," he tells her with a self-deprecating laugh and a flash of blue eyes, "but my understanding is that we're looking at langoustines with something even better than the finest pancetta you've ever had, gnocchi with Parmesan foam and wild mushrooms, and venison with black cabbage. Then there are the cheeses - about which I know nothing - but I'm assured they are divine—"

"Listen to you," she giggles. "Richard, whatever it is I'm certain it'll be delicious." She sees the way his eyes dance as he looks at her and continues to watch him as he serves them both.

He catches her staring. "What?" he asks, grinning.

"You," she answers simply. "I've fallen on my feet with you, Richard. I am proper spoiled."

"As you should be. I've waited an awfully long time for this, you know." _This;_ the single-minded devotion of a woman. _This woman._ There are times when the way she looks at him causes him to lose his footing, when the depth and breadth of her love for him is practically tangible. Here is a woman who has stood on the edge of the abyss not once but twice, yet she has opened her heart to love again, and she holds nothing back.

Finished serving, he switches off the lights. "Now then, what shall we drink to?" he asks as he sits down.

* * *

 _ **This year's love had better last  
Heaven knows it's high time  
And I've been waiting on my own too long**_

 _ **But when you hold me like you do  
It feels so right  
I start to forget  
How my heart gets torn  
When that hurt gets thrown  
Feeling like you can't go on  
**_

 _ **\- David Gray, "This Year's Love"**_

* * *

She thinks back on the year they've had. For Isobel it has seemed as if every step forward has been met with several setbacks. The crushing weight of grief had lifted during this, the second year since Matthew's death, but in its wake she had unearthed an inability to separate her personal agony from the difficulties inherent in her line of work. It wasn't that she had lost an inordinate number of patients compared to any other year; no, in fact, there have only been two years in the thirty-four she has practised during which she's lost fewer. But her pain is so sharp, the loss of her son still so fresh, that this year's casualties are, in her mind, four women whose lives _she_ failed to save. Those losses, in concert with the deaths of six of her patients' babies (four of them Richard's NICU patients) and the pressures of running a department, have sapped her physical strength and forced her to face up to her vulnerability. Had it not been for his steady presence, often beside her literally as well as metaphorically, well …

She shudders to think about the conclusion of that sentence. At a minimum she'd have chucked it all, and more than likely she'd have been hospitalized for exhaustion if not for a nervous breakdown.

But none of those scenarios had come to pass because Richard _had_ been there, _always,_ holding her close in her sorrow; holding her back in her anger. He had wept with her, laughed with her, reminded her how to laugh at herself. He'd ensured that she had eaten properly and slept adequately, and on those nights when sleep wouldn't come he had stayed awake with her. There'd never been a minute that she'd spent alone unless she'd wished it.

"You know," she tells him quietly, "for someone who's never been married before, you do it like it's second nature, Richard. Words fail to capture what you are to me, and all that you've saved me from." She reaches across the table, covering his hand with her own. "Do you remember the first case we worked together, all those years ago?"

He nods. "Drake, wasn't it? The mother was eclamptic, the baby born with an atrial-septal defect, and while they were both in hospital the father suffered congestive heart failure."

"That's the one," she confirms. "Baptism by fire in every sense. Do you remember what you said to me? We were scrubbing in for delivery and you said, 'Well, Dr. Crawley, I have a feeling we will sink or swim together.'" She smiles fondly. "I knew right then that at the very least, you and I were going to be fast friends. And as I think back, what comes to mind is this: _we didn't sink._ Not then; not when Matthew died. And not this year. So, Richard, I'd like to propose a toast."

She lets go of his hand to raise her wineglass and he mirrors the action. "To you; to us," she proclaims, her smile broadening until it becomes one of triumph. "To staying afloat."

"To you; to us," he echoes. "To staying afloat." They drink, and he watches her close her eyes as she swallows. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks in the low light. He finds himself wondering how the wine will taste on her lips and is unwilling to wait for later to find out. As she savours the finish, he steals a kiss. She gasps in surprise and they both giggle. "Delicious," he pronounces, his eyes fixed on hers as they open slowly. There is no chance of her missing his meaning.

 _What are you going to do about it?_ Her gaze challenges him.

 _Just you wait, young lady,_ he answers without words.

The food is delectable, and both of them conclude that it's easily the best they've ever eaten. Isobel's mention of the Drake case sparks a flood of memories and they spend the entire meal reminiscing about notable cases both old and recent as the wine continues to flow. Dessert is carrot cake soufflé with spiced pecans and butterscotch sauce ("I had to ask them to forgo the ice cream, considering the circumstances," Richard says, but neither one misses it).

When dinner is through, she helps him to organize the dishes and collect the rubbish. "The cart and all the tableware are on loan from the caff," he explains when she asks. "I've recruited a couple of the kitchen lads to lend a hand tonight. They'll come and get it all after we've cleared off." She suspects that he's rewarded these young men handsomely and it warms her heart. He knows well the drudgery of working holidays and if he can make it marginally more pleasant for someone else, he'll go out of his way to do so.

* * *

 _ **On the roof, that's the only place I know  
(Look at the city, baby)  
Where you just have to wish to make it so  
Let's go up on my roof**_

* * *

It's nearly midnight when they're through, and Isobel stands in the corner of the glass enclosure, looking down at the city. "It's a different world from up here, isn't it?" she muses as Richard comes up behind her, smoothing his hands over her shoulders.

"Aye, it is that," he answers, kissing her cheek. "It's ten till," he tells her. "Fireworks will be starting soon. Will you join me? Ringside seats …" He raises an eyebrow at her, his eyes sparkling with an almost childlike excitement.

"Suppose I get cold?" she counters, playing at being contrary because he loves it, the push-me, pull-you nature of their banter.

"Suppose I tell you we've got a driver waiting to take us home?" He grins as her eyes widen.

"Are you having me on?" she sputters. He raises his hands in a gesture indicative of his innocence. "Richard, you've pulled out all the stops this evening, haven't you? Are you telling me there's actually a car … downstairs … waiting _for us?_ "

"All I've got to do is make a phone call when we're ready," he says, tucking his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Come on, put your coat on, love."

"Well, how very James Bond of you! Honestly, darling, this evening is one I shan't be forgetting anytime soon." When he's helped her into her coat she does the same for him, securing his scarf round his neck.

Taking up the bottle of champagne, he hands her two glasses and she follows him outside to the platform above the helipad. After they've set down the refreshments she leans against the guardrail and he moves in close behind her, his arms going round her waist.

* * *

 _ **At night the stars put on a show for free  
And darling, you can share it all with me  
I keep a-telling you  
Right smack dab in the middle of town  
I found a paradise that's trouble-proof**_

 _ **So if this world starts getting you down  
There's room enough for two, up on the roof**_

* * *

"Do you know I was up here earlier?" she asks as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "When I rang to say I couldn't meet you. You know it's impossible to get a signal inside." He nods, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and she continues. "By then I'd been on the clock for ten hours. I was on the verge of going mad, so I came up here for a change of scenery. It did the trick, you know."

"I've often found it has done."

"So that's why you've brought me up here tonight." She turns in his arms, grinning. "All these years, we've both been sneaking off up here, unbeknownst to the other. No, but Richard … what I mean to say is that it's given me the perspective I've been searching for …" she trails off, looking into his eyes to gauge whether he's with her.

"Aye up! That's got my attention."

"Remember last fall? It was after Ethel, the day when you drove us up to Newton. You know that's where my heart is, that Yorkshire is where I feel at home, and I know you love it up there every bit as much as I do. Both of us have been sensing that a change is in order. We've talked about all our options, but Newton is the one we keep coming back to." She pauses as the first fireworks light up the sky to their west. "Oh!' she gasps, "That's lovely!"

"Grand, innit?" he agrees, tucking a windblown strand of hair behind her ear. "Go on, love. You were getting to the good bits."

"I wasn't ready to answer that day, when you proposed we move there for good. I wanted to be sure, when I did give you my answer, that I'd put as much thought into it as you've done, that I'd seen it from all sides. And I have done now, darling. I have my answer." Her face lights up with the sort of joy he hasn't seen since their wedding day. The sky is on fire, wild shades of purple and orange and green lighting up the horizon as one year becomes another, but it all fades away as Richard Clarkson waits for the words that will change the course of their lives.

"I'm ready, Richard. It's our time now. Let's do it."

His mouth drops open and he grabs her by the shoulders. "Isobel, you do realise what you're saying, don't you? I know we've discussed it, but I need to be sure. We're talking about retirement, love. Selling the flat in Ladbroke. Leaving the city behind. This is really what you want?"

"Well it's what _you_ want, isn't it?" At his nod, she continues. "Of course it's what I want! It's what I've always wanted, only I never supposed I'd have anyone to share it with. It's the next logical step, love. We'll have George nearby and opportunities for as much or as little involvement in medicine up there as we like." The more she says about it, the more she starts to feel giddy, whether from the wine or the excitement she can't be sure. And that's why when he steps back from her she inhales sharply, caught on the wrong foot. "Richard, tell me you're with me, please, that I've not gone mad. _Please._ "

He pops the cork on the champagne bottle, pouring some for each of them, and slips his phone from his pocket. When he aims the camera at her she shrieks, covering her face.

"No, don't," he tells her, drawing her hands away. " _Don't,_ Isobel. I want to capture the way you look just now. This is _huge_. This is … this is the moment our life together begins in earnest. And look at you. You've never been more beautiful."

"Oh, alright, you silly old beggar," she giggles. She's always known him to be thoughtful and romantic, but he's taking it to a new level tonight. She allows him to get off a couple snaps of her before grabbing his phone. "Enough of that, now. If we're doing this, we're doing it right! Get over here!" She turns the camera round, managing to get several of the two of them as the church bells begin to ring indicating midnight.

A series of loud booms signify the grand finale of the fireworks and he snatches the phone back from her. "That'll do now, lass. Whilst we're on a streak of doing things properly …" he hands her a glass of champagne, "To you; to us. To new beginnings. Happy New Year, Isobel."

When she thinks back on this night, she'll never be certain whether she wished him a happy New Year, whether she drank the champagne. All that she'll remember is the taste of it on his lips, the exhilaration of being lifted off her feet; the sense that for the first time in all her life, everything was _right._

* * *

 _ **'Cause who's to worry  
If our hearts get torn  
When that hurt gets thrown  
Don't you know this life goes on  
And won't you kiss me  
On that midnight street  
Sweep me off my feet  
Singing ain't this life so sweet**_

 _ **\- David Gray, "This Year's Love"**_

* * *

* _Marianne_ is a tiny, upscale restaurant in Notting Hill. I've borrowed extensively from their menu and wine list. **  
**


End file.
